


go get your gun

by Griffin Raynor (TheEbonHawk)



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DC Animated Universe, Under the Red Hood
Genre: Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Death, Fix-It, Gen, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-01 23:42:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10203506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheEbonHawk/pseuds/Griffin%20Raynor
Summary: You've got a passion in those eyesSo aim it straight and true- the dear hunter





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever DC fic! Jason's what got me into this fandom so it's fitting.
> 
> Please leave a comment/review and leave some kudos if you liked it! Thanks.

The Joker grabbed a handful of Jason’s hair and forced eye contact, grinning sadistically as he held up the crowbar to remind the kid who was boss. “Tell me,” he purred. “How does it feel, knowing you’re going to die tonight?”

Jason grinned crookedly, his show of bravado timed to distract from the fact that he was subtly testing the ropes that bound his feet to this rickety wooden chair. Despite the punishment he knew it’d earn him, he was strongly considering kicking the clown in the nuts. “It feels great,” he practically chirped. “Because I’m not.”

At that, the Joker barked a laugh and released him, causing the Boy Wonder to brace himself from what he knew was coming. Sure enough, Joker took a step back and hit him again right across the chest, hard enough to knock the hope of living out of him for a moment.

Then the Joker circled around behind him, eyeing him like the easy prey he was, paying close enough attention that he’d surely notice now any attempt to escape the bonds. “I think you have too much faith in dear old Dad. You sure he’s even coming? I mean, what’s he gonna do, right? He won't kill me, and otherwise how will he save you _and_ keep me from running off to blow up a hospital?”

Jason tried not to let his heart sink, but even as he fought against it he knew his face was falling and his shoulder slumping. He couldn’t pretend the whole time.

Bruce _would_ try; he knew that as certainly as he knew that the Joker would try and probably succeed to kill him soon. But could the Batman kill the Joker, even if it was the only way to save his son?

There, too, was very little hope.

 

Jason focused on his breathing - it was pretty damn hard at the moment, but for now he _was_ still breathing - and tried just to not panic for a few moments.

He eyed the Joker’s discarded gun halfway between here and the door. It was something to keep in mind, certainly, but it was doubtful it’d do him any good.

The Joker was still circling, had almost come all the way around, when he suddenly grabbed the chair and pushed it to the floor, sending Jason crashing into the concrete face first.

It knocked the breath out of him and bloodied his mouth, nose, and chin: worse, it ruined his efforts to stay calm. He sensed now that the Joker was almost done with him, that he was almost out of time. Even if Bruce burst through the door right now, with Dick at his side and a gun in his hand, it still might not be enough to save him.

The Joker hit the back of the chair, breaking it over Jason’s back. Jason cried out loudly and tears formed in his eyes, falling to the floor and mixing with the growing puddle of blood he lay in.

Joker chuckled, soundly genuinely giddy, like he’d been told a nice joke. “It’s such a shame your old man isn’t here to see this. I’d love to watch the Bat cry over his most pathetic charity case.”

A sob built in Jason’s throat, and there wasn’t any way to stop it ripping its way out.

At the sound of it, the Joker bent down next to him, grinning wickedly in his peripheral vision. “Do you get it now, little bird? It’s almost over, and Batman’s nowhere to be seen. And after I’ve been so patient.”

Jason felt the overwhelming urge to continue crying, his fate accepted, and hope it wouldn’t be much longer. The pain already inflicted was severe enough he felt he ought to already have died from it.

 

But if he was going to die tonight, he wanted to take as much satisfaction away from the Joker as possible. And who knew, maybe if he could hope a little longer, at least he’d feel happier when the finishing blow came.

Slowly, carefully, he wiggled his arms free from loosened ropes and pushed himself up, even more slowly, to rest on his arms and elbows. He didn’t look at the Joker, but he smiled, imaging his father bursting through the door, just in time, if only to say goodbye. “No matter where you go or how well you hide, if you threaten someone he loves, he’ll be there.” He took a shaky breath, feeling pleased at how even his voice was and how much it carried and echoed in the room.

Before the clown could respond, the warehouse door facing Jason screamed and flew free of its frame. On the other side stood the Dark Knight, looking simultaneously more terrifying and more heroic than Jason had ever seen him.

He stomped into the room, and Jason resisted the urge to try and sit up.

He groaned in pain as the Joker grabbed his arm and hauled him up to his knees, pressing the cool side of a clean blade to his throat. His heart pounded painfully in his bruised chest. It was the moment of truth.

 

Once again his eyes were drawn to the gun, which Bruce was now right behind. He tried to make eye contact through the cowl, but if Bruce noticed he was ignoring it. He stepped over the gun and stopped in front of it.

“This is your one chance,” the Batman growled, his hands clenched to minimize their visible shaking. “Let him go.”

The blade gently bit Jason’s skin, evil laughter filling his ears. “Make a real threat,” the clown replied. “And I’ll consider it.”

With one fluid motion, Bruce stepped back, seized the gun, and raised it. Before Jason knew what was happening, before the Joker could react, the gun fired like a crack of thunder, and the arms pinning Jason close to death fell away limply.

 

With the loss of support, Jason had to fight gravity long enough to fall onto the bare floor instead of the corpse behind him. He gasped and tried to catch his breath, mind racing to try and comprehend what just happened, heart struggling with the astonishing fact that he was _alive._

He heard the gun clatter lightly against the floor as it was set down, and then a rush of heavy footsteps as his father bolted to his side. Bruce knelt next to him, gathered him in his arms, pulled him away from the dead Joker. Hands fumbled in his utility belt, shaking like a leaf in a hurricane, and began to produce bandages and painkillers.

“Are you alright?” he asked, voice still harsh, but with concern and urgency now instead of rage. He was gently removing the top of Jason’s suit, assessing his wounds and doing what he could to fix them. Most of the trauma was internal, but there were some gashes across the chest, inflicted by the end of the crowbar.

Rather than answer, Jason peered at Bruce through half-closed eyes, still not convinced he wasn’t dreaming. “What the fuck did you do, Bruce?”

Bruce made him take a pill, the shaking in his hands so bad now that he dropped it twice on Jason’s chest before getting it right. “I killed him. I had to.” He picked Jason up carefully and carried him to the door, sitting down again with the boy rested in his lap. “Dick will be here soon. He’s bringing the car so we can get you to safety. Can you breathe alright?”

Jason nodded, his eyes sliding further closed. He turned his head enough to see the corpse on the ground.

 

The Joker hadn’t even gotten a last laugh. Maybe he didn’t even realise what was happening. Either way, Jason couldn’t say he felt sorry.

Bruce touched his cheek gently and turned his head, making him look up at his father instead of the dead killer - his would-be murderer. “Don’t close your eyes, Jason. You can rest soon, but we need to get you home safe first.”

Jason nodded, fumbling until he found Bruce’s hand and holding it tight. “I knew you’d come.”


End file.
